


April Meant...

by Broken_Twisted_Lullabies



Series: Unnatural Writers Club [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fighting, Fluff, Rainy Days, Unnatural Writers Club, mention of absent father, mention of alcohol comsumption, reference of an eating disorder, reference to death of a family member, reference to drug usage, reference to running away from home, sad broken little boys, smoking (mentioned), unexplicit reference to sexual acts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 08:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13291347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broken_Twisted_Lullabies/pseuds/Broken_Twisted_Lullabies
Summary: For the Shurley boys, April used to be the best month. But now, it was the cruelest.





	April Meant...

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is set in the same universe as Failed Relationships and Past Regrets but you can read this as a standalone. Please heed the warnings and if any of them upset you or might bother you, you can either click away now, or stop once it says "But, to Gabriel..."
> 
> Prompt: "April is the cruelest month"

For the Shurley family, April was the best month. April meant laughter and smiles, bright coloured balloons and gifts. It meant relatives visiting with joyful eyes and dressed in vibrant colours.

To Michael, April meant rainy days sitting by the window, watching droplets race down the window payne. It meant curling up in a blanket and spending afternoons following hobbits on adventures to places far away or visiting magic schools. It was sword fights with siblings against pirates in the living room, of having time to be a child and not worry about what tomorrow might bring.

To Lucifer, April meant sweet smells and cooking in the kitchen, baking chocolate chips or birthday cake. It was icing covered fingers and messy faces coated with batter, flour on shirts and smiles on faces. It was sitting on the counter, counting the seconds left on the timer before it would be ready. It was sneaky hands trying to steal still hot cookies from the plate, asking for " _just one more_ " and one turning into many, many more.

To Raphael, April meant red rubber boots and raincoats that fluttered in the breeze, splashing in puddles left by the rain. It was counting worms on the sidewalk and not caring how wet your clothes got in the end. April was trekking muddy footprints into the house after making mudpies, only to be scooped up in strong hairs and carried off to the bathroom to wash up.

To Gabriel, April meant dancing around the house, little hands holding bigger ones, spinning around and around and around until you tumbled to the ground, dizzy and giggling. It was singing loudly to songs on the radio, making up new words to replace the forgotten ones and mixing up verses. It was involuntary remixes and humming in the hallway songs that had long since finished. April was bright blue eyes and wavy, honey-coloured hair. It was warm hugs and bedtime stories, kisses and " _goodnights_ ". It was curling up on her lap, her smile, her laugh. It was older siblings chasing you around the house, of tickle fights that left your lungs heaving for air, smiling nonetheless.

But, to Gabriel, April also meant days spent away from home, running and running until your feet were fore and lung heaved in pain. It was silence, cold limp bodies and dull blue eyes. It was screaming and crying, trying to break free of the arms of siblings. April was blocking out screams that filled the air, remaining long after everyone had left, was the same words over and over that could never be forgotten. It was dark lonely beds and nights spent crying oneself to sleep before everything just became silent.

But to Raphael, April also meant heavy boots and dark coats pulled tightly over a shivering body, walking through puddles left by the rain. It was counting calories, caring about each and every meal you ate. It meant muddy footprints left from visits to the cemetery, loose thin arms curling around oneself. April was hungry stomachs and tired limbs, lost appetites and hiding behind locked doors, trying to find warmth in cold empty bones.

But to Lucifer, April also meant the burn of alcohol and bitter smell of smoke, trying to choke your lungs. It was blackened fingers, scruffy tired faces with sunken eyes that stared hollowly back to you in the mirror, unrecognizable. It meant snarls and cold sharp remarks that cut like ice. April meant sitting with your head in your hands, surrounding with empty bottles and cigarette stubs, unable to think clearly. It meant roaming hands and strange beds, trying to feel something past the bitter numbness that clung to your bones and the sad eyes of an older brother as you slunk back home, promising " _just one more_ " and one turning into many, many more.

But to Michael April also meant staring out the window at the rain, watching, wondering if it would ever stop. Wondering if the sun would ever come out again or had it given up on him much like his father had, leaving without word and never to return? It was curling up under the blanket, pulling it closer when some days got too much, when everything felt too heavy and it was too hard to breathe. It was growing up too quickly and realizing fairytales weren't real. That you could wish the bad times and that happy endings didn't exist. It was wishing you could go somewhere far far away from here, just pack up your bags and escape this numbness that dragged you down. April was fist fights and shouting matches with Lucifer in the living room, being too hard on younger siblings as you worried that any day might be their last. It was worrying one day you'd find them dead in an alley from an overdose or bleeding out in the tub. It was trying to fix things, chase away the heaviness on your shoulders, being strong when for once you wanted to just be a kid and not have to worry about anything.

For the four brothers, April meant pain, struggling to keep each other together while they themselves fell apart. It was broken hearts held together with safety pins and duct tape on the scars, each uttering promises that were broken before the words left their lips. It was relatives arriving dressed in dark colours with sorrow in their eyes, offering condolences and sad frowns. It was gravestones and broken little boys growing into broken young men, trapped in a grey world. Because, for the Shurley family, April had once been the best month. But now, April was the cruelest of them all.


End file.
